


Common Ground

by Evangeline_Daughter_of_Dragons



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: I suck at tagging, inspired by ocs, non-inquisitor au, the lavellans are not related
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:46:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6849403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evangeline_Daughter_of_Dragons/pseuds/Evangeline_Daughter_of_Dragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when we put Nyghtlei's mage-hating Asshole of Thedas together with my Dalish Dragon?</p>
<p>I fell in love with Nyghtlei's Trevelyan OCs and couldn't help but write them together with Faora, hence this fic.</p>
<p>*Paix and Warryn Trevelyan and Okami Lavellan all belong to Nyghtlei17. Follow this lovely lady on Tumblr (http://nyghtlei.tumblr.com/) for more on her awesome OCs*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nyghtlei17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyghtlei17/gifts).



The training grounds were electric. Cheers and whistles echoed through the walls of Skyhold as the Dalish Dragon went head to head with the Asshole of Thedas. Bets were placed from nobles and soldiers alike, eager to see the outcome of the sparring match.

The two broke apart from their third deadlock. Faora licked the blood from her spilt lip and grinned. “Oh, sweetie, I should have asked you to dance sooner.”

Paix rolled his eyes again. He only agreed to fight the pretty witch because she promised to keep from using her magic in the fight. He kept his surprise hidden when she proved to be a formidable warrior with just a weighted pole and fancy footwork. “Guard up, mage. This is a match, not a game.”

She laughed aloud, rich and throaty. “Then why am I having so much fun?” She charged again, flipping and flinging her body to gain momentum. Paix gritted his teeth and took a defensive stance. How has she not tired herself out from doing that, he wondered.

Her metal staff rang against his practice blades as he parried her blows. Her red hair almost seemed to dance around her, unable to keep up with her movements. She kept herself out of his reach with that damned pole, but finding an opening wasn’t impossible. He watched her small hands as she twirled her staff and waited.

“There!” He slashed at her hands, knocking the staff from her grip and tearing her loose shirt. Her weapon clattered to the ground somewhere behind her and her eyes fixed themselves on the dagger pointed at her face.

“You’re pretty fast, aren’t you?” she panted. She didn’t need to look down to know the other knife was poised at her throat. Her lips turned up at the corners, making her look sweet and demure. “But you’re terribly unbalanced.”

Her hands shot up and grabbed both of his wrists, and with startling strength she flung him past her and hopped out of his range. She was laughing again, but that only frustrated him further. He was about to turn and charge her, but what he saw made him stop and stare.

The blasted woman discarded her shirt, flinging it at that demon friend of hers just outside the ring. Now she stood in nothing but a black breastband and tight leather leggings. The whistles grew louder and numerous. His brother’s favor for this one became more understandable.

Suddenly her face was a mere inch from his, accompanied with the smell of vanilla blossoms and cinnamon. “Guard up, soldier,” she mocked, following up with a series of sharp jabs to his torso. “If this witch were your enemy, you’d be dead.”

Paix staggered back utterly stunned. He watched her as she bounced on the balls of her feet. He saw the toned muscles she hid under her clothes, the dusting of freckles she had across her shoulders and chest atop sun-kissed skin. If it weren’t for the staff, he wouldn’t have known she was a mage.

He shook his head before his eyes could linger on more intimate places and readied his daggers. “Don’t get cocky just because to mildly surprised me, mage.”

Faora tilted her head and gave him that feline smile. “Because I managed to hit you or because of the view?” She pushed her red hair back with both hands, giving him and the crowd an unobstructed view of her body.

Damn this woman, he thought. He advanced on her once more with quick slashes and sweeping kicks, all of them dodged or deflected by his opponent. She, quite literally, danced around him. This fight was going nowhere.

Paix threw his blades down and brought up his fists. “It’s about time we end this.”

Faora’s eyes sharpened and her smile turned predatory. It sent shivers down his spine. She crooked a finger at him, gesturing him closer. “Then come get it, handsome.”

The two of them became a blur of fists and feet. Spectators moved in and pressed against the railings of the sparring ring, trying to get a good look of what was happening. They were an even match, tiring each other out until the tide of the fight shifted suddenly. Faora seemed to slow down a fraction, just enough for Paix’s fist to make contact with her left hip and send her facedown to the ground. She flipped herself back over to defend herself in case he had her pinned, but it was too late. He pinned down her hips with his strong legs and had both of her small wrists pinned above her head. The match had been decided.

They stayed there like that for what seemed like hours. Paix gazed down at her as his heartbeat slowed, completely transfixed. She was so small beneath his body. Both of her wrists fit in one of his hands, and he felt like her throat could very well fit in the palm of his hand as well. But her tiny frame held so much power, mage or no. Beneath him was one of the most beautiful and powerful women he had ever met.

She stared right back at him as she lay there, completely yielding, yet prideful. Her eyes were alight with excitement and… adoration? Her face was flushed and her lips were parted with quiet pants. The corners of her lips curled upwards, both awed and mischievous. Her voice was low and husky when she spoke.

“I yeild, Paix Trevelyan.”

Cheers broke him from his wandering thoughts and he all but scrambled to her off of her. She remained on the ground and let out that lovely laugh once more before moving to get up. He offered her a hand and pulled her up, steadying her with the other hand on her hip when she lost balance.

“An incredible fighter and a gentleman. Aren’t you quite the package?”

He pointedly looked away from her. “I will admit, your prowess was a pleasant surprise. You are an excellent opponent.”

Her grin got wider. “So it was fun for you, too?”

He scoffed. “Shouldn’t you go to Warryn if you seek ‘fun?’”

She shook her head, ignoring the jab. “Nah, he got tired of me _putting him on his ass._ ” She said the last part loud enough for Warryn to hear, resulting in a rude gesture from him and a laugh from Okami. Faora turned her attention back to Paix. “You’re actually the first person to beat me in a long time. And I’ve gotta say, I kinda liked it.”

He allowed himself to smile at her antics and offered her a hand. “Fine. It was a good match, Faora.”

Her face lit up even more. “You remembered my name!”

“Only because you’re a good soldier.”

She giggled and shook his hand firmly. “Glad you can tolerate me.”

Suddenly her smile faded and she looked down at their joined hands. Paix was bewildered. “What’s wrong? Are you injured?”

She shook her head absently. “No, that isn’t it…” She lifted their hands between them and her face softened. “It’s just… Your hands… they’re so lovely.”

As if she realized what she was doing, she dropped his hand and hid hers behind her back. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, drawing his attention to them and suddenly admiring their soft pink color.

She seemed to gain back her confidence when she spoke again. “If you’re not doing anything tonight, then you should come down to the tavern. There’s gonna be a party and you seem the type who could use more fun.”

Paix opened his mouth to argue, but he quickly shut it. Her expression left no room for argument and he found himself conceding. “It would be rude of me to refuse an invitation, but I don’t promise anything.”

Her face lit back up, shining like the sun overhead. “I’ll see you there then,” she said as she turned on her heel towards the Iron Bull and his chargers, swaying her hips as she went.

He looked down at his hand, turning her words around and around in his head. They made him warm, happy even. It was rare for him to get compliments, but instead of the face he shared with his brother she complimented his hands. He watched her a bit longer as she shrugged on a fresh shirt the demon had handed her and disappeared into the tavern. He smiled and turned towards the keep, thinking about her until nightfall. He would never say it out loud, but he was actually looking forward to this party.


	2. Chapter 2

The noise from the tavern was louder than usual. Of course, it was a party. Noise would come naturally, especially in a full bar with ale flowing like a river. Paix pushed open the door the the Herald’s Rest and was greeted by loud merrymaking and the smell of spilled alcohol.  _Maker, this place is a mess._

Thankfully he was able to slip into the building unnoticed, claiming an empty table in a corner for himself. He saw the Chargers in their usual corner, commandeering several tables in the area. The Inquisitors sat with them at a long table accompanied by most of their inner circle. His brother sat particularly close to Inquisitor Okami, seeming to glare at any passing man who looked at her wrong. Like a dog defending his territory. He scoffed.  _As if he didn’t have enough people wrapped around his fingers._

His eyes scanned the room for a head of red hair, catching many, just not the one he was looking for. He knew she provided an extra set of hands for Cabbot, so he at least knew she would be somewhere in the crowd. And, at the very least, gravitating somewhere near Warryn. His hand balled into a fist on his lap at the thought. Such a beautiful woman giving him all of her attention, and he still chased others. He didn’t deserve her. She didn’t deserve to be treated like that.

He shook his head at the thoughts, surprised by his new bitterness towards his brother.  _Because of her?_

The song ended and the patrons cheered, ready for the next one to play. Maryden began strumming a very fast paced melody, quickly accompanied by more lutes and lyres. A drum beat began to play and cheers rang out as a slender figure stepped out into the middle of the floor. Paix immediately recognized Faora, but her state of dress made him do a double take. Instead of her usual attire of a loose shirt and breeches, she wore a long flowing skirt the color of twilight that flowed like smoke and sat low on her hips. Her top clung to her frame and showed off her midriff, dyed in a myriad of cool greens and blues. She was barefoot, as usual, but he could see gold bangles around her ankles peeking out from beneath her skirt, matching the ones she wore on her wrists. Her long red hair swayed with every step she took and hung loose and wild down below her shoulder blades. She looked spectacular.

Her feet and hands began to move to the beat of the drum, speeding up and slowing down with the tempo. Her hips moved fluidly, like a the waves of an ocean. Her joyous smile broadened as more came to join her, including a very excited Lady Montilyet. They danced in circles around each other, becoming more bold and sensual as the dance went on. Paix felt himself blush as he watched the sultry way she moved her body. Her eyes were closed as she danced, completely giving into the music. She danced with Lady Montilyet in almost perfect synchrony, hypnotizing the whole tavern. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her hips as they swayed and rotated with such grace and suggestiveness. The way she moved promised wicked things, and he had to force himself to look away and regain his composure.

One last twirl and the song was over. The place erupted with cheers as the dancers took their bows and exited the floor back to their friends. Faora and Lady Montilyet skipped back to their table, giggling like teenagers with their arms locked together. Their friends gave another round of applause at their return and resumed their chatting.

Paix watched Faora as she went around the table to Varric and the demon. Both smiled warmly at her as she approached. He shook his head. As a mage, one would think that she would be very wary around the creature. Instead, she embraced it and cared for it like it was her family. Such carelessness was dangerous.  _She is dangerous_ , he quickly reminded himself.  _All mages are_.

As if it sensed his thoughts, the demon’s icy blue eyes locked with his own, causing him to stiffen in his seat. Both of them sat absolutely still until Varric regained its attention. It looked down shyly before turning its face up to Faora and whispering something at her. A smile graced her lips as she looked up once more to scan the crowd, finding him in his hiding place. She looked genuinely happy to find him there, to his surprise.  _You idiot, she invited you here._  She gently touched the demons face in apparent appreciation as she excused herself from the table, gracing her friends with affection as she passed them.

She quickly crossed the room and stood at the opposite end of his table, greeting him with a warm smile. “Well, hello there, handsome. Did you just get here?” She was still breathless from her display, her chest gently heaving to catch her breath.  _Maker, give me strength_.

He cleared his throat and focused on her face. “Actually, I arrived a few minutes ago.”

Her eyebrows rose with surprise. “And no one has offered you a drink yet?” She sighed and planted both hands on her hips as she glanced around the room. “Well, I guess the others are pretty occupied right now. What’s your poison?”

“I actually don’t drink.”

“We have tea, if that’s your fancy.”

Well, that wasn’t the response he was expecting. “If you have any, I would appreciate it.”

She smiled. “I’ll be right back, then. Cabbot!” she called as she made her way to the bar. She returned shortly after with a tray holding a steaming kettle, a cup, cream and sugar, a bottle of wine, and a tall glass.

“That was fast,” he commented as she set the tray down.

“Magic,” she replied with a wink.

He scowled, but she paid no mind as she sat next to him and poured him a cup of tea and handed it to him. She then poured herself some wine and sat back in her chair. “I’m assuming you caught that little show?”

He nodded, savoring the hint of spice in the tea. “I didn’t know you danced.”

She laughed. “Well, you don’t know much about me to begin with.”

It was true, he couldn’t deny it. Before the fight, the two of them had only spoken a handful of times. She was a mage after all. And he had earned a reputation from avoiding mages.

She shrugged. “I love to dance, but I don’t perform often. I guess it’s sort of a guilty pleasure.“

“You’re quite good at it.” He noticed how she blushed at the compliment. “Was that some Dalish dance?”

“Antivan, actually. Hence Josie’s joining in.”

“How does a Dalish elf learn an Antivan dance?”

“I met a troupe up in Wycome and became friends with some of the younger girls. They taught me a few moves while they were in the city.”

Paix tilted his head. “Your clan was okay with that?”

She shrugged. “They weren’t around to disapprove,” she said nonchalantly. “Usually I snuck off to see them. The only person who cared was the Keeper, and she usually gave me a short lecture and sent me on my way.”

He scoffed. “Sounds like Warryn. No wonder he likes you so much.”

Faora smiled wistfully and turned her face to watch the tavern goers.  _There’s that famous malice whenever he speaks of his brother_ , she thought. “We are pretty similar, aren’t we?”

“That isn’t really a good thing, you know. Even more dangerous, considering you’re a mage.”

Her eyes whipped back to meet his, calm and inquisitive. “Why is that?”

He met her gaze evenly. “Why does your clan not keep an eye on a reckless mage with such a reputation?”

They were silent, staring each other down at this sudden confrontation. Cole peeked out from under his hat from across the tavern. Varric noticed his sudden change in demeanor.

“What’s wrong, kid?”

Cole’s eyes stayed fixed on Paix and Faora. “Fear. Hatred. Admiration. Jealousy. Clashing like thunder, threatening the fairy. He wanted to understand, but the jealousy got in the way. Understanding. Disappointment. Acceptance. It hurts, but she weathers the storm. But can she?”

“Who?” he prompted.

“Faora and Paix. They want to be friends, but there’s a wall in front of her and strings tying him back. She reaches over the wall, but can’t reach him. He struggles against the strings, but doesn’t let go of them. Why? I should help.”

Varric placed a gentle hand on Cole’s arm before the spirit boy could move. “Hold on, kid. Let’s see where this goes first. If it gets worse, then we’ll step in, okay?” 

Cole turned and looked at his short friend. “Does time help with hurt like this?”

“We’ll see,” he assured as he watched the two in their little corner.

Faora sighed and slouched in her chair.  _His reputation surely precedes him_ , she mused. She put her empty glass down on the table and gazed down at her hands. She smiled sadly this time. “It’s hard to see past being a mage, isn’t it?” 

“That is what you are, isn’t it?”

She flashed him a sweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yes, that’s what I am. Now ask me  _who_  I am.”

His brow furrowed. “I know who you are.”

“Do you?”

He leaned back in his chair, mirroring her posture. “The Marchers call you the Dalish Dragon. You’re an infamous mage known to both the humans and the elves that has the potential to mow down a whole battalion single-handed if pressed. You are a secretive person who doesn’t wish to speak of her clan, her family, or what she was doing at the conclave. You managed to rub elbows with important powers within the Inquisition, and have rubbed more than elbows with one of our Inquisitors. You are powerful and ambitious. In a single word, dangerous. And as a mage, you were born dangerous.”

She listened patiently as he recited what he knew about her. She kept her face neutral, but inside she grew tired. She’s heard this before, many times before. She knew what he thought about her title, what everyone thought about it. Thankfully some looked past it and left that part of her alone. Yet there were still some - like Paix, apparently - who never dug further than skin deep.

Her voice was perfectly serene as she spoke. “I’m surprised you’re being so civil with something you fear.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t fear you, mage. The Chantry teaches of the dangers that magic can bring. ‘Magic is meant to serve man, and never to rule over him.’“

Faora lifted her chin defiantly. “I know the Chant. But arguing that magic is dangerous is like saying that a blade is sharp. The only difference is that people are taught to fear and hate one while they can be trained to wield and respect the other. Mages know they’re dangerous. The Chantry teaches them that even before they come into their abilities.”

“So you agree?”

“In that people are dangerous, absolutely. A sword in the hands of a frightened and angry man is just as dangerous as magic in the hands of a frightened and angry man.”

Paix leaned forward in his chair, planting a tightened fist on the table. “It’s not the same,” he defended.

Her eyes came to rest on his tightly clenched fist.  _He really did have such lovely hands._ She moved her hands down her lap and further under the table. “It is. Smiting a mage is like taking a knight’s sword and sheild. Cutting off a knight’s hands his like making a mage tranquil. Or am I wrong?”

Of course she was right. But that didn’t make them any less harmless. He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it when she reached across the table and placed her much smaller hand on top of his. He stared down at it, noticing the lines of her tattoos as well as very old scars reaching from her fingertips to her knuckles.

Faora’s voice was so soft, almost a whisper. “I’m not saying we are without our faults. Gods know how weak we are. But such shortsightedness will not make the world any safer from us.” She smiled humorlessly. “The Dalish have a saying, often said to stubborn children like me.”

He lifted his eyes back up to her face, seeing the sadness and disappointment in her Fade green eyes. The sight was a needle in his heart, and he couldn’t figure out why. “What do they say to stubborn children?”

She stood and leaned down towards him, tightening her hand on his. Her hair fell over her shoulder and wafted the scent of cinnamon and vanilla blossoms at him, intoxicating him. She was so close to him and so warm and small. He had almost forgotten that she was the fierce woman that he had fought earlier that day. But now? She was a young girl clad in her hurt and defeat.

She paused, her lips next to his ear. He shuddered as she breathed a soft sigh.

“ _Dirthara-ma_. May you learn, Paix Trevelyan.”

Without another word, she straightened and turned to make her way back to her friends. Once again, he watched as she left him there. Her words echoed through his head.  _May you learn._ It sounded like a threat, but at the same time not. Not with the pain she spoke with.

He cradled his head in an upturned hand.  _Maker, what have I done._

He left shortly after once the party started getting rowdy. A drunken Fereldan woman decided to pick a fight with a rival of sorts. He stood to break up the altercation, but before he could a small tattooed hand wound the aggressor’s ponytail and yanked her to the ground. His and Faora’s eyes met for a heartbeat, then she turned away, failing to mask the regret in her eyes. He left before he could linger there any longer, letting that look haunt him for the rest of the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Mornings in Skyhold were nothing short of busy. Soldiers and servants alike scurried through the inner workings of the fortress with practiced efficiency, keeping the place as orderly as Halamshiral. Far below, early risers went through morning exercises and chores as the sun graced the mountain tops. The sight never failed to make Faora smile.

Below she could see the Chantry sisters in the gardens prepare for morning service. She could usually hear their singing all the way up on the ramparts where she did her own morning exercises, and she greatly enjoyed how peaceful and energized the Chant made her feel. Her own little spot in Skyhold. Not a secret one, but still unspokenly hers.

The cold mountain air bit at her skin as she removed her over-shirt. She let it fall into a heap on the stone and hoisted herself up onto the parapet. Her face turned towards the sky as the sun lit up the mountaintops, watching it change from indego to orange. She pointed her right foot forward in front of her, as she does every morning, and began a series of stretches balanced on the rampart.

Down below, Paix emerged from his room and blinked into the early morning light. He hadn’t slept well the night before, he suspected that had something to do with the tea he had at the tavern. He made his way to the Herald’s Rest, ignoring the people littering the courtyard. The tavern itself was mostly empty except for the barmaids cleaning up after the night’s revelry. He went for the barman, who was presently restocking the shelves behind the bar.

“Sir Cabbot, I-”

“There’s no ‘sir’ in front of the name, sonny,” the dwarf interjected. “It’s either ‘Cabbot’ or ‘barman.’”

Paix shook his head, slowly growing impatient. He was, by no means, a morning person. “The tea I was served last night, what was it?”

Cabbot shrugged his shoulders and looked at the aggravated man over his shoulder. “Beats me. Ask Fae, she’s the one that brings the stuff in. Has quite a kick, huh?”

He blinked at the name. “Fae?”

Cabbot did turn around then. “You know, Fae? Elf, mage, slight fiery little thing. The girl you seemed to upset last night?”

“You mean Faora?” _What in Andraste’s name was in that tea?_

“Her friends call her Fae. Guess that means your not a friend,” he dismissed as he turned back to what he was doing. “Anyways, she’s the one you wanna find. Best place to look is up.”

Paix scoffed and stalked out of the bar. _Well, that was no help._ He scanned the courtyard, finding and settling on Seeker Pentaghast. She seemed to be friends with the evasive witch, as well as an authoritative figure to her. She would be a good start to finding Faora, if any.

“Good morning, Seeker Pentaghast,” he greeted as she thrust her sword into the ground.

“Good morning, Lord Trevelyan. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, I was hoping you could point me in Faora’s direction.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh? What business do you have with her? Is this about last night?”

Paix could already feel the headache gathering to the front of his skull. “I just need to ask her a question, that is all. Can you help me or not?”

She eyed him some more before taking a seat on under the tree. “Have you tried looking up?”

_Maker preserve me._ “What does that even mean? Where is she?” He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

Cassandra picked her water skin and took a long drink. “I mean what I said, Lord Trevelyan. Look up.”

With exasperation, he threw his gaze to the sky. He saw what he expected: pine tree branches, the towering stone ramparts, the early morning sky, and a flash of red hair.

_Wait, what?!_

“What in Andraste’s name-?!” Paix took off running up the stairs that led to the top of the northern wall, taking two at a time. The reckless witch was spinning and leaping atop the parapet as if she wasn’t in danger of falling to her death. He glanced around. _No one is alarmed by this?_

Faora threw herself into the next set of flips, feeling the sleep and sluggishness leave her limbs. For her, dancing atop such a high place was extremely cathartic. _Much better than morning meditations_ , she thought. Here, she was mostly alone, no one but guards on patrol come through here, and no one ever bothers to look up. Almost absolute seclusion.

She was feeling especially bold today, so she decided to do one more flip across the gap in the wall for the stairs leading down. She kicked up one leg after the other off the edge and tucked in her arms for a corkscrew. Her eyes closed with the moment of weightlessness, then felt something slam into her and drag her back down to the floor with a thud. She groaned at the pain around her waist and her head, but when she moved to get up she found herself straddling someone with their hands on her hips.

Paix scrunched his eyes closed to calm the ache in his head, lying still to catch his breath. “Maker’s breath, woman, are you _mad?_ ” He opened an eye as he felt her sit up and blushed when he realized their positions.

They stared at each other, both blushing and neither moving a muscle. Faora’s hands were flattened against his broad chest while his still firmly gripped her hips. Paix once again marveled at the size of her, feeling how small she was compared to him. His thumbs unconsciously stroked the soft skin on her hips as he gazed up at her, drawing a gasp from her lips that brought him back to his senses.

He pointedly looked away from her and pressed the heels of his hands to both of his eyes. “Is it possible to get sick from another person’s utter recklessness?”

Faora gawked at him. He was the last person she thought she would see so early in the morning, and she was pretty damn sure he wouldn’t want to see her either. Let alone _touch_  her. Her hand reflexively combed back her hair. “I believe that’s called ‘a headache.’”

Paix snapped his fingers. “Yes!” he exclaimed sarcastically. “That’s it. You give me a headache. Thank you.”

She couldn’t help but giggle. “One of my many talents, I’m afraid.” She leaned forward to gently turn his head, only to be stopped with a light shove from Paix.

“Don’t,” he spat. “I’m fine.”

“Well, alright then,” she huffed. “I wasn’t expecting to be sought out so early in the morning. Is something wrong?”

“Well, you still haven’t gotten off of me, for one.”

He felt her shrug above him. “Well, you’re so warm and comfortable, I just can’t bring myself to move.”

“Just get off me before someone sees us!” he growled.

“Too late.” To his horror, a voice piped up behind Faora. It was a scout on patrol who casually tossed a shirt onto her head.

“Morning, Fae.”

“Morning, Jim,” she greeted cheerfully back. She lifted the shirt off her head and beamed. “Not a word?”

“Not one, don’t worry,” he affirmed as he continued on his way.

Faora smiled down at Paix, who still had his hands shielding his face. “See? ‘Don’t worry,’ he says.”

She squealed in surprise as he rolled to the side, sending her toppling over. “Off, witch.”

They both stood and dusted themselves off, neither wanting to look at each other. Faora glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and saw that his cheeks were still as pink as hers felt, but that could just be from the cold morning air. She had to forcefully push away the memory of how warm his hands were, how his long and elegant fingers held her tightly. _Gods, he has such beautiful hands._  She shook her head. “Anything else I can help you with? Aside from embarrassing you?”

Paix pinched the bridge of his nose, avoiding having to look at her. “The tea you served me last night, what was in it?”

Faora canted her head to the side, looking like a curious kitten with her large Fade green eyes. “The tea? It was a special mix of black tea with ginseng that I made myself. Did you drink all of it?”

“Would I be ill if I did?”

She bit her lower lip. “No, but the effects would last quite a while. Did you have trouble sleeping last night?”

Before he could answer, she stepped forward and peered into his face. He smelled the sweet scent of vanilla blossoms and cinnamon with her proximity and backed up against the battlement. His hand went up to halt her and he turned his face away from her.

“Y-you d-don’t need to-!” His hand clasped around her shoulder and he held her at an arm’s length. _Maker, why do I always end up touching her?_ He cleared his throat and kept his eyes off of her, ignoring how soft and warm her skin was. “If you’d let me finish, I’d tell you that I did.”

_Gods, why do I do this to myself?_ “I see. Come on, then,” she said as she grabbed a hold of his wrist and pulled him in the direction of the northwestern tower.

Fora slipped her shirt over her head and let it hang around her neck as she led Paix to the ladder to her room. “Up here.”

“Why? Just tell me what’s going on and we’ll go our separate ways,” he protested as she began climbing the ladder.

“Just get your nice, but grumpy ass up here,” she commanded.

Seeing as she won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, he followed after her, keeping his eyes down and away from her pert bottom that was swaying just above him. Once inside he was greeted by a large number of colorful glass baubles suspended by strings from the ceiling. The floor was covered in several furs, and a few more draped the canopied bed in the corner. A desk sat close to hearth and held several books and scattered note that overflowed onto the floor. Across from there were several shelves holding containers of what looked like dried herbs, which a few were being taken down by a very busy Faora.

He stared in awe of the place. It was colorful, cozy, and warm inside, reminiscent of a child’s playroom. It even smelled sweet and earthy, very much suiting a person like Faora.

The elf busied herself measuring and mixing several herbs together into a jar. She spoke over her shoulder. “The tea I gave you last night promotes energy and resilience to stress-related fatigue. That batch in particular was a bit stronger for party purposes, so that’s probably the cause of your restlessness at bedtime.” She turned gracefully and presented him the small jar. “This is-”

“Chamomile and lemon balm. How did you get these?” he interjected, taking the jar and examining it’s contents. He remembered drinking this tea when he was younger and had trouble sleeping. He recalled the taste fondly.

Faora smiled. “We grow both herbs in the garden, since they help soldiers with stress and anxiety, but they have their own section so the children don’t accidentally pick the pretty flowers.” She then presented him with another jar, this time with darker tea leaves. “This is a different black tea blend that has little bits of iboga leaves in it.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“To help with any alcohol cravings you might have. If any.” A fine blush rose in her cheeks, making the lines of her vallaslin more prominent. “B-but if you don’t, then… I’ll just-, I’ll,” she stammered. Her lip drew itself back between her teeth as she hid the jar behind her back. “ _Fenedhis_ , how presumptuous of me. I make this tea for others and I just assumed…” The blush reached the tips of her studded ears now.

Paix had to push the word ‘adorable’ out of his mind at the sight. Then her words suddenly jumped to the front of his mind. “Wait, what? ‘Alcohol cravings?’”

She nodded, not looking at him. “I, uh, overheard Warryn talking about it last night. Your past drinking habits, that is. _Fenedis lasa_ , I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m so sorry.”

_Maker damn that prick,_ he thought at he pinched the bridge of his nose again. “That’s none of his business.”

Faora sighed and her shoulders slumped. “Neither was it mine, but I still over-stepped. Forgive me. I know you’re not fond of me, but I thought I could help you. Just forget I said anything.”

She moved to put the jar back on the shelf when she felt a tall warm body come up behind her and enclose around her hand. “But you made this for me?”

She didn’t dare turn around. He smelled like sandalwood, books and leather; so masculine and calming and _distracting_. _How did I not notice this before?_ A small noise of confirmation was all she could make.

Her eyes went up to their hands, feeling her heart beat faster at the sight. She was used to being so small compared to everyone else, but actually seeing his hand on hers made it all the more true. His fingers were so long and elegant, almost sinfully beautiful. Nothing like her’s. The warmth they released spread all the way from her own hand to her chest, even as he gently took the jar from her fingers.

“Then I graciously accept this gift,” he said. Maker, he was grateful that she couldn’t see his face right now. It wasn’t often he received gifts, especially not such practical and personal ones. His alcoholism was a touchy subject, one he was determined to kept to himself. Yes, he was embarrassed that someone knew. But he was more so embarrassed at how warm and utterly pleased _she_  made him feel.

Faora abruptly spun around to face him, clasping both hands around his hand that held the jar. “Just be sure not to drink it too often. The iboga is okay in small doses, but can become addictive if consumed too much or too often. One or two cups is okay, but only if the cravings get really bad. Or once or twice a week to keep the edge off,” she instructed in a rush. She kept her eyes down, hoping to hide her blush. It spread down her neck and shoulders now, highlighting more of her faint green tattoos that continued from her face down to her chest and arms.

Paix averted his eyes before he could wonder how they looked under her clothes. _Andraste preserve me._ “Twice a week. Understood.” He awkwardly stepped away from her and made for the trapdoor, tucking the jars in his coat. “I’ll take my leave, then.”

She watched him from where she stood. Just before he disappeared from sight, she took a hasty step towards him. “Lord Trevelyan!”

Violet met green and a breath was held in between them. She flashed him a shy but feline smile. “If you need more, you’re more than welcome to come and find me.”

He gave a smile of his own. “Just look up?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, then she giggled. “Yes. Just look up.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Until later.”

“Later.” She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face for the rest of the day. As selfish as it was, she very much hoped that he would need more tea soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves, ladies and gents, it’s gonna be a long one. Might wanna go grab some snacks and maybe a blanket. Apologies in advance, I need to slow tf down.

No matter how hard he tried, Paix could not ignore the way his brother lounged in his seat at the dinner table with a knowing and aggravating look about his face. He peered at Warryn over the pages of his book and took a deliberate sip of his tea. Glaring at him lost its effect years ago, but it was still a habit he couldn’t keep himself from doing.

“You know, if you keep staring at me like an idiot your hair might catch fire,” he grumbled without putting his book down. “Actually, that would probably be hilarious.”

“I’m a funny guy,” he replied, unfazed. Warryn leaned both elbows onto the table and rested his chin across his tented fingers. “So.”

“So?”

“Enjoying that tea?”

“Danmit, Warryn, what do you want?” he demanded, shoving a placeholder into his book and tossing it onto the table.

Warryn’s grin spread even wider  _(if that’s even possible),_ smug that he got a rise out of him. “Don’t get so defensive, brother. Just wanted to know how you’re doing. I can’t care about you?”

“Get to the point, you aggravating little-”

“Hey, Fae!”

Paix quickly twisted in his seat, eyes searching. The snickering behind his back nearly had him throwing his book at him, instead slumping in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. “And they call  _me_ the asshole.”

“Don’t sulk, Paix. She and Okami’s due to be back any moment now. I didn’t realize you’d miss her so much.” Warryn had been observing his brother ever since the day after the party. Fae, on the one hand, had a little extra spring in her step while Paix stood a little taller and strode with a bit more swagger. His grumpy older brother even attracted more attention than usual from the noble ladies he passed, commenting on how handsome he was when he wasn’t scowling as much. Why wouldn’t he be more cheerful? A moment talking to their Dalish Dragon would perk anyone up.

“I don’t miss her,” he objected defensively. “I just need to settle something with her immediately.”

“And that matter is too sensitive for a raven to carry?”

Paix didn’t answer. Warryn sighed and relaxed back into his chair, giving him a sympathetic look. “I know you, Paix. You’ve been more irritable since she and Okami left to take care of that stuff with the Dalish. If I knew you any less, I’d say you were interested in her.  _Very_  interested in her.”

Paix opened his mouth to object, but a messenger appeared behind Warryn before he could say anything. “Pardon me, my lords. Inquisitor, if you have a moment?”

Warryn waved for her to speak. She knelt down next to his chair and began to whisper into his ear hurriedly. The more she spoke, the more the smile on his face faded, disappearing altogether. The sight sent a feeling of dread into Paix’s chest.

Warryn stood abruptly before she could finish and fixed his eyes on Paix. “C’mon, they’re back.”

The two of them followed the messenger out of the great hall and into the courtyard. A crowd had gathered to greet Inquisitor Okami and her party upon return, but the crowd had a solemn and anxious air about it instead of it’s normal boisterous nature. She and the rest of the group haven’t even crossed the bridge when the messenger fetched them, but now Okami, Cole, and Solas rode in with grim faces. Okami’s eyes caught sight of the brothers after she dismounted and handed off her mount, gesturing them closer with subtle urgency.

“What happened?” Warryn hissed when they got closer. His hands came up to take inventory of her, but came back down into fists when she backed up.

She cast her eyes down to her feet, clutching her right arm. “Blood mages. They set a trap in a cave. Not for the Inquisition, though.” She glanced behind her at the cart now coming in. The brothers followed her gaze to see Solas  unloading a still body from it and casting gentle pulses of magic. Both Warryn and Paix’s hearts dropped when they realized who it was.

“Fae?”

Solas passed them on his way to the infirmary. Her face was pale and her clothes were torn and bloody. From a passing glance she looked like she was merely sick, but the way Solas murmured into her ear reminded them of her grim circumstance.

“What happened?!” This time it was Paix who spoke, not taking his eyes of of her and Solas.

Okami walked past them and followed Solas. “Walk with me.”

She explained how it was Faora’s clan that called for their aid, and for her specifically. They requested that they rid them of blood mages that started harassing them when they settled in some of their familiar territory.

“We tracked them to a cave. I should have realized something was wrong when she wouldn’t go into it. I should have never convinced her to go in…” Her voice trailed off.

Warryn gave her a gentle touch on her back and an encouraging smile.

She swallowed hard, regaining her composure. “She knew the cave. It was the cave that the other children in the clan trapped her in when she was little. That’s how she came into her magic

“But there was something more in the cave. There was an old laboratory deeper in, and the blood mages made it their headquarters. They waited for us - for her. Said they needed her for something. We fought. We got separated from her. They… did something to her. We got there as fast as we could, but they did something to her.”

They were in the infirmary now, and Okami sat in a cot next to Faora’s. Solas and another healer had removed her armor and laid her down in a fresh shirt and breeches. Paix could see no visible injuries, but that only made him worry more.

“What? What did they do?”

Solas stood, keeping his eyes on the redheaded elven woman. “We do not know. There is no poison or any sort of catalyst in her system. Physically, there is nothing wrong with her, but she has been sleeping since we left Wycome. I have searched for her in the Fade, but something keeps blocking me,” he informed them as he sat down next to Okami. He took her arm and sent healing pulses into her as she began speaking.

“When we found her again, they were performing some sort of ritual. They trapped her in a magic circle and she was screaming,” she recalled as tears spilled from her eyes. “She started to-, to change. I don’t know how, but her skin started to scale and turn red. Her eyes turned yellow. And her fingers became claws.”

She fell silent then. Solas finished with her arm and went back to Faora’s side. “We were able to kill all of the blood mages and break the circle. Once she was out of it she reverted back to her original form. She was fine when we returned to her clan and spoke to the Keeper, but not long after we left them did she collapse.”

“What do we do then?” demanded Warryn. “We just wait?”

“That is the only thing we can do,” he replied calmly despite the way his fists balled up so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “She needs to be monitored for the time being. I need to rest and replenish my mana, and possibly try to find her in the Fade once more. Inquisitor Okami, you must sleep as well. Not once have I seen you rest the entire journey here.”

“How could I?” she cried. “How could I rest when my friend won’t open her eyes? If I had just asked her what was wrong, if I had just sent her back to camp…”

Warryn knelt beside her and smoothed a hand on the top of her head, murmuring things like ‘it isn’t your fault,’ and ‘you couldn’t have known.’ Paix stayed rooted to where he stood, watching the gentle rise of Faora’s chest as she breathed. He’d never seen her so still. Even when she was sitting still she would twist her hair between her fingers, or bounce her foot under the table. Usually seeing her so full of life made his heart twist as he watched her now.

He turned to Solas. “I’ll watch her. Is there anything I need to do?”

Solas eyed the man suspiciously. His dislike for mages wasn’t a secret, nor was it exaggerated. He witnessed the way he treated mages if they so much as spoke to him. The two of them even argued at one point, from then on avoiding each other whenever possible. But he’s seen Faora and Paix spar that day, seen the camaraderie they forged just from one fight; camaraderie that seemed to dissolve that night at the party. He didn’t exactly know what to make of their relationship, but he wouldn’t easily let him remain at her side when she was the most vulnerable. Still, he had no reason to refuse his offer.

He sighed as he rose and grabbed her belongings. “Watch for a fever. When she wakes she will need food and water. Offer her soup first, then solids if she requests it. I imagine she will,” he commented with a fond smile. He slipped his mask back on and looked straight into Paix’s eyes. “If anything is amiss, send for me. Not just any healer, but me. Do not agitate her when she wakes, lest you wish any more pain for her upon your conscience.”

Paix glared at the apostate, but nodded nonetheless. “Do you object to her staying in her room? She would be more comfortable there.”

Solas stopped before the door. “If you believe she would be, then I have no objection. Just be careful moving her,” he instructed as he pushed open the door. “Send for me if anything changes. I will have these delivered to her room.”

The infirmary fell silent once again before Warryn coaxed Okami into going to her quarters to rest. Before they left he leaned over to Paix and gave a gentle nudge to his shoulder. “Take good care of her, alright, brother? Not for me, but for her and Okami.”

Paix gave him a heartfelt but sarcastic smirk. “As if I ever did anything for your benifit.”

Warryn smirked back and gave a rougher nudge. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

_~Two Days Later…~_

Paix looked over to her bed from the desk once more, noting that she still slept as soundly as the day he carried her up here. He glanced out the window to see the sun had reached its peak high is the sky. It’s about time the apostate came in to check on her again. Yesterday he checked her in the morning when he rose, at noon before lunch, and in the late evening before Skyhold fell asleep.

Punctual as ever, Solas knocked on the underside of the trapdoor.

“Come in.”

Solas climbed into the room and gave him a nod, going straight to her bedside. “Have you eaten lately?” Paix didn’t miss the lack of concern in his voice.

“Don’t worry about me. She hasn’t stirred, but her temperature and breathing are normal.”

He hummed in acknowledgement. “You should go have a decent meal, get some fresh air. You have been watching her diligently for the last two days, it is alright for you to take a break.”

“I’m fine,” he retorted.

“I insist, Lord Trevelyan. We don’t need you falling ill because you choose to neglect yourself. I will watch her for now.”

Paix sighed and rolled his shoulders. A real meal did sound quite tempting at the moment. He wedged a place holder in his book and set it down on the desk, grabbing his coat as he went. “I won’t be too long, then.”

“Take your time.”

Once the trapdoor closed and the door outside shut with a soft click, Solas smoothed a gentle hand through her silky ruby red hair. “How long have you been awake, da’len?”

Faora didn’t move, keeping her back to him. Her breathing, however, hitched when he spoke. Count on Solas to catch her in her tricks like a mischievous child. But she wasn’t feeling playful or clever.

“Depends on how long I’ve been out,” she whispered.

He sat on the edge of her bed and folded his hands in his lap. It has been long since he leisurely touched her; he had to muster all his restraint from doing so again. “It has been a week since you first collapsed near Wycome. You need to eat something, you must be famished.”

“I’m fine. I’m not hungry.” Truth be told, she was probably starving. She couldn’t tell anymore. She just felt so hollow that she didn’t think anything could fill the void inside her.

“Da’len, you must try, lest you weaken yourself further.”

“Well, maybe I like feeling weak for once!” she replied sharply, cutting herself more than him. Her lip went between her teeth to hold back her frustration. “A week, huh?”

“Yes. Do you feel any pain? Discomfort?”

“Physical or emotional?”

“Either. And do be honest with me.”

She was silent for a while, not wanting to talk about herself and feeling comfortable in the silence. He didn’t push. Instead he checked her, his hands glowing as they hovered over her form for abnormalities.

“How long has Paix been watching me?” she finally whispered when the silence felt too heavy.

She didn’t see how Solas’ ears twitched at the name. “Since we returned. He insisted on monitoring you until you woke. You hide yourself very well for him not to notice your deceit.”

“Don’t call it that,” she spat. “I’m just… I’m not ready to face him yet. To face anyone yet.” Finally she turned around to face him with eyes full of guilt and fear. “Okami? Is she okay?”

Solas held her face with both hands, examining her as he spoke. “I was able to mend her arm on the road, and her ribs were merely bruised. Aside form a slight ache, she is perfectly fine.” He watched her eyes shut and her lip quiver at the news.  _Oh, da’len._ He smoothed her hair from her face and cradled her head gently. “Don’t even think that this is your fault. You weren’t aware of what you were doing.”

Faora shook her head, failing to hold back the tears that rolled freely down her cheeks. “You’re wrong. I  _was_ aware. I watched everything happen right before my eyes, but I couldn’t do a fucking thing about it!” She batted his hands away from her and covered her face in her own, unable to stop the sobs that racked her body. “I felt them twist me, heard their chants until all I could hear was screaming. Not even my own screaming! The demons feared me, Solas, the fucking demons! Oh gods, Cole!” She sprang up quickly, only to fall to her side in a bout of dizziness. “Cole was so afraid of me, afraid of what I had become. And I promised he would never have to fear me. And Okami. I hurt Okami. Gods, what have I done?”

Solas wrestled her hands away from her face and pinned them to her sides. “It wasn’t your fault! You weren’t in control,” he argued, but she fought back with strength he didn’t know she had, nearly throwing him off the bed.

“That’s the point! I wasn’t in control! They were! They caught me, shut me up, and made me their puppet. Did you see them?”

He grabbed her shoulders, bidding her to still, only to receive more opposition. “I know, da’len. I was there, I was there with you.”

“But you didn’t fucking see! You didn’t feel!” she cried. Her skin began to heat rapidly and the glass baubles began to sway. Solas released her, shaking out his hands and backing up in surprise. “They used blood magic, but not a drop was spilled. Did you see? They used _my_ blood. My own blood turned me into a monster and I lost it. I lost control and they turned me into a beast! I could have killed everyone!”

The air in the room was swirling now, knocking the glass together and upsetting the pieces of parchment that littered her desk and floor. A small jar on the shelf rattled dangerously over the edge until it fell to the floor with a crash, scattering dried tea leaves and ginseng roots among the shards of glass. The sound broke Faora out of her thoughts soon enough to see what she was causing. She took deep shuddering breaths.  _No! Calm down. Control. You have control._

The wind stopped and the room stilled. Solas stood there, carefully masking his apprehension.  _Her mana is running wild. More so than usual._ He knelt at her bedside once more, being careful not to touch her. Faora took notice and drew her knees to her chest, hoping somehow that’ll keep everyone safe. Safer from her.

“You’re afraid of me. They all are now, I know they are. My clan feared me, and now they do, too. They have a damned good reason to.” Her voice trailed off to a whisper until all Solas could hear was her quiet murmuring and light sniffles. 

He chanced a hand atop her head, breathing a sigh of relief when it didn’t burn or get shaken off. “We do not fear you, Faora. Everyone here trusts you with their lives, including the Inquisitors. They will never-”

“You don’t get it,” she cut him off sharply. “Paix was right. I never should have wandered away from my clan. I never should have been so cocky and reckless. I stopped seeing myself as a danger, even though I claimed not to be. Gods, I was so blind.”

_That name again. How dare he make her doubt herself._  “Why does it matter what he says? He looks down upon mages, and he’s ignorant to our plight.”

Faora raised her head enough to glare at him, green eyes as sharp as a veridium blade. “You mean just as you put down us Dalish? How ignorant you are to how we’ve worked to preserve what the human empires have taken from us? ‘Pot, meet stubborn-as-fuck Kettle.’”

Solas bit his tongue.  _That isn’t how I feel,_ but he could not bring himself to say it.

“Besides, I’m a shining example of why magic is so dangerous. He’s right. I was born dangerous. Creators’ fuck, I was  _literally_  born dangerous.” She fished out a book from beneath her pillow. It was a worn leather-bound notebook that held the same symbol as her father’s amulet. Her hands trembled as she held it, almost as if she feared it. “It’s all here. My mother’s journal. My mother was a blood mage, and all of my power is owed to her. She wrote down all of her experiments, their results,” she flipped frantically towards the back of the book, stopping with unnatural precision on a passage that she must have read dozens of times.

“Here:  _“She is barely a week old and I can already feel it. Her magic. She will be very powerful, indeed. She isn’t like the other gifted children. Her veins are rich with the blood of a high dragon, one of the most destructive forces in this world._

_“Despite the outcome, my experiments have bore much fruit. The blood and lyrium I have consumed passed to her, where it has integrated itself into her mana reserves and her personal link to the Fade. The veil will always be thin around her, just as it is around me._

_“Her father grows suspicious. No matter. I do this for the people. They will understand in time. We will use this power to reclaim what is rightfully ours. For now, I must focus on my precious daughter. She will be the key to unlocking the power of dragons. My sweet Faora.”  
_

Solas took the book from her hands and read the passage again. He shook his head in disbelief as he flipped through the pages himself, reading the formulas and diagrams scrawled inside.  _Such reckless experimentation with no possible way of knowing the outcomes. And for the results to pass to her daughter, and rejoice in it?_ His rage bobbled inside him. Rage towards Faora’s mother. Rage towards her clan. Rage towards the blood mages who wished to use her to their own ends.

His head snapped back up at the sound of her mirthless laughter. “How grossly ironic. She wanted me to be a dragon, and that’s what the people painted me as. And all the work of blood magic. A shining example of why we should be locked up.”

“You know that isn’t true, Faora.”

She smiled defiantly at the ceiling, watching the glass ornaments sparkle in the firelight. “You know it  _is_ , hahren.” Eventually her smile faded and the tears rolled freely down her face once more. “Do you think they’ll send me away? Or lock me up? It would be stupid to let me loose.”

“They have no reason to take either action.”

“You suck at lying, you know that?”

_Now who’s ironic?_ he thought to himself.

“Some timing, too. I think Paix was starting to warm up to me,” she added wistfully.

Solas’ frown deepened. “You value his opinion?”

“I value everyone’s opinion. I may not agree, but it doesn’t hurt to hear stories from the other side of things.”

“Even when they hurt you?”

She eyed him fiercely. “Especially then. How else am I supposed to find common ground and appeal to others?”

He scowled. “You don’t need their approval.”

“I do if I want to stay here and fight.”

They continued to bicker back and forth as Paix held tightly to the ladder with one hand and a basket of food in the other. He decided to have his meal in Faora’s room so he could resume keeping an eye on her, so he went down to the tavern since it was closer than the kitchens. One of the serving girls - Mira, he believed - intercepted him before he made it to the bar and handed him a basket. She explained that she and the other girls were worried about their friend and grateful that he was watching over her, so they filled a basket with bread, cheese, cured meats and fruit for the both of them. Accepting graciously he took their gift basket and returned to the tower in time to stumble on her version of Okami’s story.

_Maker’s breath,_ he thought. Okami never mentioned that it was Faora who hurt her, nor did she elaborate on her injuries. His grip on the ladder tightened when she mentioned her loss of control, then again at the words ‘blood magic,’ then nearly throwing himself up the ladder when he felt a change in the atmosphere due to her magic.

Paix was angry. Rightfully so. She was a threat, even more so since she succumbed to the will of a blood mage. He had half a mind to go to the Inquisitors and the war council to have her removed from Skyhold until he heard the break in her voice.

_You’re afraid of me._

From down here, she sounded so small and vulnerable. But that shouldn’t matter. It _doesn’t_ matter.

_But it does, doesn’t it?_ prodded the little voice in his head. An image of her flashed in his mind’s eye, an image of her curled up in her bed with her hair fanned around her head. She looked so childlike and innocent as she lay there, making his heart twist at the sound of her voice.

He shook himself and listened. He heard his name mentioned, smirked at the irritation in Solas’ voice, listened to her scold him, and tensed at her mother’s journal. He wondered how much Okami and Warryn knew. How much Faora told anyone aside from Solas.  _The war council needs to handle this._

Their voices rose in volume before he realized it was happening.

“Why the fuck does it matter to you?” Faora demanded. “’Don’t approve?’ Who are you, my Keeper? Last time I checked, I was a grown woman who understood that there are consequences to my actions. Or do you still think I’m a child?”

“Of course I understand that you are an adult, but there are still things you haven’t experienced,” he replied in a more calm tone. Paix could hear his patience fraying.

“Then I’ll go out and experience them. If I want some advice, I’ll find you and ask. Unless, of course, it has anything to do with my romantic life. Apparently it _bothers_ you.”

“I am your friend, lethalin. It is naturally for me to worry about who you involve yourself with.”

“Solas, my friends consist of a Tevinter mage, a Red Jenny, a spirit, a qunari spy, a smuggler-slash-smut writer, and both Inquisitors just to name a few. Have any of them threatened me? No. Has Paix? No, and I think my track record says that we have the potential to be friends.”

Paix’s brow furrowed.  _Why am I part of this?_  Something in the back of his mind told him that he probably shouldn’t be listening to this, but his curiosity won out.

“Faora, listen to me. He hates mages, and is blind to reason by prejudice. His contempt is toxic.” His voice trailed off into something softer. “He won’t make you happy.”

She scoffed. “You mean like how you wouldn’t make me happy? We had this very same conversation back in Haven, only now you don’t want me with someone else. Do you not want me to find someone?”

“I don’t want to see you rejected,” he admitted.

Her voice was much quieter when she spoke. “Please. If it’s anything like when  _you_ rejected me, I’ll be fine.”

The both of them were silent then, pain hanging heavy in the room above Paix’s head. Now he regretted listening on their conversation. None of that was any of his business, yet he selfishly sated his curiosity and found himself feeling guilty for it.

“I would like to rest now, Solas, if you don’t mind.” Faora sounded so spent, so defeated. Knowing her, however, she probably said it with no expression.

A quiet ‘of course’ followed and Paix could hear the sound of bare feet falling heavily on the floor boards above. Before the trapdoor could open, he backed away until his back was firmly against the wall. He watched as Solas descended from Faora’s bedroom, shoulders slumped and head slightly hanging. When the elf turned and saw Paix he instantly straightened and slipped on his indifferent mask. They stared at each other until Solas made his way to the door.

“And you worried about _me_ causing her pain?” he commented spitefully as he passed.

Solas stopped with his hand on the door knob and let his anger flash in his stormy blue eyes like lightning. “I’m not worried that would. I just know that you  _will.”_

Paix remained where he was after Solas left, unsure of what to do next. He listened for Faora upstairs. She didn’t seem to leave the bed or go back to sleep. Not that anyone could after a confrontation like that.

And what of that conversation that involved him? Romantic life? Rejection? This had absolutely nothing to do with him just minutes ago, now he was somehow thrown into the middle. He sighed.  _Inquisitional obligations first, personal problems later,_ he decided. Hopefully with the first canceling out the second in the process. Securing the basket in the crook of his arm he made his way up the ladder and back into her room.

Faora sat in her bed with her head down on her knees. There was no way the war council would let her leave, but remaining as an active Inquisition agent was just as unlikely. She refused to go back to her clan, and most of her friends were in no position to offer refuge to a living weapon.  _Creators, what a mess._

She heard the ladder creak under someone’s weight and sighed heavily. “Solas, I’m done talking.”

“No, you aren’t.”

The floorboards creaked under the weight of a taller heavier person with a deeper voice than the elf she thought he was. She swore under her breath and raised her head to see Paix with a face as stern as stone. It’s not often that she felt cowed by another’s stare, but something in his violet eyes made her want to sink into the sheets until she was out of sight.

“Hey,” she squeaked.

He dropped the basket he was holding at her feet and fetched the chair from behind her desk to her bedside. “You need to eat something. You’ve been asleep for a week.”

“So I’ve been told,” she affirmed quietly as she poked at the basket’s contents. Her stomach growled loudly at the smell of food.  _Well, a week is quite a long time to go without eating._  She grabbed a handful of grapes and popped them between her teeth, savoring the explosion of juice that spilled into her mouth. She almost didn’t notice Paix watching her intently.

“What?”

He sat there silently, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together in front of his face. Expressionless.

“You never look at me directly, so there must be something wrong.”

He blushed at that, but still held his intense stare. It made her smile. It didn’t last long, though. “So there is something wrong, isn’t there?”

Paix dropped his hands from his face. “How much does Okami know?”

Faora didn’t need to ask what he was talking about. “You heard then?”

“Answer the question,” he asserted sharply.

There was no fight left in her. She had every intention coming clean, she just didn’t expect to do it so soon. She couldn’t even look at him. “She knows what I am and that my mother was a blood mage.”

“How much does Warryn know?”

“Nothing.”

“And Solas? You told him everything?”

“Everything I already know.”

He leaned back in his seat and appraised her. “You realize that you’re a danger to the Inquisition.”

She scoffed. “I’ve always been a potential danger to the people around me. I’m a _mage_.”

That earned a chuckle. “Indeed.”

They sat in silence once more. She stopped eating, and he was no longer staring intently at her. Looking at her now, she seemed older than she was; she looked so tired and weathered and dejected.  _Fragile._

_But that doesn’t matter right now,_ he reminded himself. He took a deep breath and mentally braced himself.

“Tell me everything. From the beginning,” he instructed sternly.

Faora shifted in her bed and stared down at her hands. “The clan sent me a letter asking for our help. When we got there we-”

“No,” he interrupted. “From the  _beginning.”_

She glanced at him.  _Gods, I’m not ready for this._ There was no way out of it, she knew that. It didn’t, however, make things anything easier. She took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, focusing on the sparkling glass hanging from the ceiling.

“I don’t remember much about my parents, but I do know that my father was a hunter…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, Nyghtlei, for letting me write your wonderful characters. You are a beautiful person.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is gonna be a little dry. I’m sorry. But, it isn’t as long as the last one. This is more of a set-up chapter, if I’m completely honest. It’s is a little (mostly) Faora-centric to lay the path for future events. Everything will make sense later, I promise.

“My father had a history of magic in his lineage, so the Keeper thought he would be a good match for my mother, who was a mage herself. I was told they were happy together; that they adored each other. They were lucky such an arrangement worked out so well. The Keeper said most arranged couples only either tolerated each other or had a child or two then completely ignored each other until death. I was told they were lovely.

“Unfortunately, no one knew that she was a practicing blood mage. She apparently hid it pretty well, the bitch even gloated about it in her journal - excuse my language. According to her notes, she had been since before she and babae were betrothed. What’s worse is that she had an unhealthy facination with reavers and dragon blood.

“She wrote about her research, her experiments, and every detail to her results down to the letter. The sick bitch kidnapped lone travelers and homeless people from nearby cities - again, pardon my language. She would conduct experiments on them far from the camps, seeing if she could somehow make a stronger reaver.

“Eventually she was satisfied with her formula and gave it to three other people to monitor their reactions, then began to take it herself. She wrote down that she felt more powerful as time went on, saying things like her mana felt endless and her senses were sharper. The others, however, either went mad or died. By then she was in the early stages of pregnancy. She was pregnant. With me. And she had no idea.

“She was so happy when I was finally born. Relieved, actually. She was worried how her ‘treatments’ would affect me when she  _did_ realize she was having me, but all they did was make me strong. Oh, and turn my hair red. Apparently no one in either of their families had red hair. I dunno, I’m still trying to figure out how that works. Thanks, mamae.

“Anyways, she wrote that she could already feel my magic even when I was only weeks old. I obviously haven’t come into my magic, but she recorded that the veil was always thin around me. Which, in retrospect, makes sense considering all the shit that happens to me.

“Babae was suspicious of her, but she paid him no mind. She claimed her work was for the people - for the intent of reclaiming the land that was promised to us. I think she was blinded by her new found power. She didn’t realize her guise was slipping. But around the time I turned four she thought it would be time to start running tests on me. 

“The Keeper said that my father came to her one night asking her to keep watch over me. He told her about my mother and what he planned to do when he found her. And when he did find her, he confronted her.

“They fought. 

“She hexed him.

“And he killed her.”

Faora took a deep breath when she realized that the draft in the room wasn’t coming from the poorly sealed windows. She loosened her fists and pushed her mana back as much as she could.

“Babae was able to come back to the camp after. He told the Keeper everything and made her promise not to tell anyone - including me - and to keep me safe. He left me his necklace, instructing her not to tell me anything until I was older. Then he spent his final hours holding me for the last time. 

“Unfortunately, one of those gossiping old hens overheard them talking. Rumors spread like wildfire in a Dalish camp. I was painted as a monster before I realized I needed to defend myself. When I was old enough to understand that everyone was avoiding me, I realized how alone I was. And I think the worst part was having no clue as to why they did.

“The Keeper hoped that I would just grow up to be normal, but that all went out the window when I came into my magic. I was eight and the biggest outcast in the Marches, and the older clan children thought it would be funny to play a ‘harmless’ prank on me. That time around we made it back to our old settlement outside of Wycome. The older kids knew about this cave that the elders said was haunted by malicious spirits that ate naughty children. And - Surprise! - that cave was my mother’s old laboratory. The elders told tales about that place in hopes to keep them away from it, but children will be reckless little children.

“I remember them telling me that they needed my help for a game. They wanted me to go into the cave to check if any of the others were in there. I remember going in to the dark and hearing a weird buzz in the back of my head. When I tried to turn around the walls and ceiling began to shake. The sun disappeared and I couldn’t see anything, but I kept walking anyways. It was so dark and it smelled like earth and blood. The buzzing kept getting louder as I kept walking and I couldn’t shake this horrible feeling that I wasn’t alone. I found my way back to where the opening of the cave should have been, but the other kids collapsed it behind me. I remember digging furiously at the rocks and dirt until my hands hurt and screaming to block out the fear and the buzzing.

“Then the buzzing turned to whispers.

“Then it turned into voices.

“Then I felt something inside me, something sharp and hot and growing. I thought it was a spirit trying to possess me and it made me even more scared. And the more scared I got, the hotter my insides felt, and the more the fear grew. I remember light suddenly coming from my hands and catching glimpses of demons, then nothing.

“I woke up days later, according to the Keeper. She said that there was an explosion where the cave was and she sent the hunters to investigate. They found me unconscious, covered in dirt and demon essence, badly scraped up hands, but okay nonetheless. The cave smelled of charred earth and burnt flesh, but they didn’t find anything else in there.

“The clan’s distrust of me was set after this incident, to the Keeper’s dismay. As much as she tried to defend me, rumors still ran behind her back and successfully alienated me my whole life. I even think she gave up at one point.

“So when the blood mages settled there and started harassing them for a blood-red-headed elf, they sent for me without a second thought. Just ask Okami and Solas, they whispered things like ‘bad luck child,’ ‘bringer of calamity,’ and ‘monster.’ I knew my clan didn’t like me, but I’m not sure if I’m surprised by this or not.

“So when we got to the cave, I noticed the veil was thinner than I remembered. The buzzing was much louder and it gave me this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. When we went in we were ambushed and separated from each other. They trapped me in some sort of circle, a kind I’ve never seen before. It hurt to move in it and it awoke something inside me. That’s when the blood mages started chanting. It sounded like a mix of Arcanum and ancient Elvhen, maybe even a root language.

“Anyways, I lost control of my body and felt it change into something… powerful. It scared the shit out of me. It scared me even worse when Okami and the others came through the door. I tried to warn them - to tell them to run - but nothing moved how I wanted it to. It was like I was watching someone else move their body from behind their eyes. The mages ordered me to attack and my body did as it was told. I wanted to stop it - gods know I did. I gained back my control when they killed almost all of the blood mages and destroyed the circle. My body reverted back to its normal state after that and we interrogated the last mage alive. He told us their plan to utilize me as a weapon and quoted someone-or-other’s manifesto. Then we killed him, took the journal, and confronted my Keeper about sending me to be a sacrificial lamb. I don’t remember much after that.

“Either way, that’s my version of what happened back in the Marches and why it happened. And I will answer questions as best I can.”

The war room stood silent. The advisors, the Inquisitors, and all of their inner circle stood on the opposite side of the table from where Faora and Paix stood. The rouge had insisted that a war council be called and Faora’s story be heard the moment she finished telling him. The first time around, he was appalled and furious. Now as he stood there glaring at the back of her head, he was ready to drag her down to the cells himself.

Cullen’s hand went reflexively to the back of his neck, taking it from the pommel of his sword. “Maker’s breath, Faora. Are you alright?”

She shrugged, aggravatingly nonchalant about her whole situation. “Still tired, I guess. And, to be honest, a bit terrified.”

“And your state of mind?” chimed in Leliana with thinly veiled suspicion. “Did they order you to do other things? Or would you not be aware of them?“

“I was completely aware of everything that happened in that chamber. Their only orders were to attack. Nothing else.”

“So does this mean-”

“No, Bull, I can’t turn into a dragon. At least, I don’t think so. Although, there’s no harm in trying.”

A collective ‘no’ sounded from Cullen, Solas, Cassandra, and Paix.

Okami, who stood silently with her eyes glued to the war table, cleared her throat. “And the journal? Where is it now?”

Faora gently pulled the worn leather book from the waistband of her breeches and tossed it onto the table. “Here. I’m honestly not sure if I should keep it or lock it up in the vault. I checked it for enchantments and hexes, but it seems clean. Read the damned thing cover to cover, too.”

Madame Vivienne grimaced at the sight of the book, appalled that anyone could record such horrid experiments. “I say we burn it. If this is the only remaining record of your mother’s work, then it is our duty to keep something like this from ever happening again.”

“But what if something happens to Faora?” interjected Okami. “What if the information we need in order to help her is in that book? We can’t burn it.”

Sera sneered at the offending book. “As rubbish as it is, I agree with Vivy. That creepy thing is all wrong in so many ways. I don’t care how ‘useful’ anyone thinks it could be, that thing has to go.”

“I’m more concerned about what this means for Faora - who, by the way, is still standing here,” Dorian pointed out.

Warryn straightened and planted his hands on the war table, wearing an expression anyone rarely saw on him. His vibrant ruby eyes bore into his close friend’s peridot ones. It pained her to see those kind of eyes turned on her, so hard and expressionless.

His voice rang deep an authoritative. “What do you think, Faora?”

She shifted on her feet. “You’re asking me? I thought  _I_  was the one on trial here.”

“It’s not a trial. If it were, we’d be in the great hall with a drama-hungry audience. This is something we’d rather keep within this circle. For both your safety as well as the Inquisition’s.”

His voice made Faora want to hang her head like a scolded child. By nature, Warryn was a laid-back person who took very little seriously. But when he slipped on the cowl of the Inquisitor, was everything the people expected him to be. Calloused, cool, and in command.

“You know, even though you’re the center of this mess, I still value your opinion, Fae. You’ve helped me several times over and been very insightful, just like everyone else in this room,” he said, gesturing around the at his council and inner circle. “What would you do with the things you know now? What do you think we could do with someone with the abilities and potential that you have?”

All attention was on her now. She swallowed hard before speaking again. “Personally, I think someone like me should be locked up. I am even more of a danger to everyone here than I was a week ago. Sending me away would just increase the chance of someone finding out about me and using me to attack the Inquisition. Killing me would also be a perfectly reasonable solution, but I don’t want to die, to be honest. I think your best option is to keep me under lock and key and supervision. But, that’s just my opinion.”

Leliana, with her light voice and eerily neutral expression, canted her head to the side. “And why would we be inclined to keep you alive?”

Josephine frowned at Leliana in disapproval, but kept silent. Faora, however, dropped her gaze down to the stone floor. Hesitation.

“I… I’m still of use to the Inquisition. There is only three other people in Skyhold that can speak, read and write seven different languages and I’m strong enough to take those skills to the field. I’m proficient in several disciplines of magic and am one of the most powerful mages in the Inquisition. And if there’s something - any chance of either keeping this under control or getting out of me completely - I’m going to find it. If not, then we can at least use it for the Inquisition’s own power.”

The room stayed silent for a few moments. No one moved save for Faora’s nervous shifting.

“Thanks, Fae,” Warryn finally said. “We’re gonna go ahead and discuss what we’re going to do next. Jim!” The huge wooden doors opened and the soldier came in and saluted. “Jim here will escort you to your quarters for the time being. We will let you know our decision within the hour. Sit tight, okay?”

Faora bowed her head and turned for the door. “Yes, boss.” She chanced a glance at Paix, but kept his scowl forward. Just before the door closed behind her, she spun around to look at her friends one more time. Warryn and Okami met her eyes, both looking grim but determined.

Jim stopped behind her. “Fae?”

She stayed rooted to where she was, afraid to leave because she didn’t want that to be the last time they spoke. She could feel the tears threaten to spill from her eyes. What if it wasn’t enough? What if they lock her up and keep her out of the sun? What if they execute her? The more ‘what ifs’ that raced through her mind, the smaller her rib-cage felt.

A hand firmly gripped her shoulder and spun her back around. “Fae!” Jim called. “Wake up, sweetness.”

Faora bit her lip and kept her eyes cast down, refusing to meet his. “What do I do, Jim,” she whispered with a trembling voice. “I’m so scared right now.”

He brought an arm around her shoulders and gently pressed her head to his shoulder, hushing her and murmuring soothing soothing words. “Shhh. I know, sweetling, I know. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

She buried her face into his shoulder. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t have to. Everything usually ends up working out for you in the end.”

She backed up and stared at him suspiciously. “Were you listening to us in there? What if Cullen found out? Shit, what if  _Leliana_  found out?”

He pressed a finger to his lips and smiled mischievously. “I’m not a gossip as many might think. I know when not to talk. Especially when it comes to those important to me.”

Faora smiled at that. She befriended Jim not long after the Inquisition move into Skyhold. She wandered down to armory and helped him take inventory when she saw how exhausted and (still) shaken he was. He thanked her by buying her drinks and telling her his own story about joining. They drank together often, finding easy comfort in each other’s company and entering an agreeable friendship.

He patted the top of her head and lightly ruffled her hair, making her laugh and swat his hand away. “There’s that smile. Don’t worry, Fae. No matter what happens, you’ll be right as rain.”

Faora shook her head, grateful for having a friend like him. She let him guide her away from the war room and to her quarters without a fuss. “People will talk, won’t they?”

Jim shrugged. “People will always talk.”

“But not you?”

He winked at her. “Not a word.”


End file.
